Refresh Your Heart
by weepingrace
Summary: Modern AU (Office setting) In which Mary wants to make Francis jealous and Sebastian just wants to help, really. (Or: That one time Sebastian meddled and made it all so much more complicated and confusing.)


**Refresh Your Heart**

Author: _weepingrace_

Summary:

Modern AU (Office setting)

In which Mary wants to make Francis jealous and Sebastian just wants to help, really.

(Or: That one time Sebastian meddled and made it all so much more complicated and confusing.)

A/N:

Happy belated Birthday, Sarah! :D

Huge thanks to Lilli, infinite source of inspiration and fellow Bastard Queen shipper.

(And just like always, we are up to no good. I feel so sorry for everyone who was glad Reign wasn't part of our multi-fandom mess.

…Actually, no. Sorry, not sorry.)  
If you've got a tumblr, how about you join our bastard queen network?

**Disclaimer:** I can assure you; Reign is as much not mine as Mary is not Bash's (a few weeks prior, when I started this thing, it said 'Francis', not 'Bash'. Fuck my life, right?). 

"So, get this," Sebastian said, mischievous lopsided smirk ever so present on his handsome face. "Apparently, they are hiring a new receptionist for the main hall. You know what that means?"

Mary didn't bother to reply at all besides a raised eyebrow. Strictly speaking, she was still working for another five minutes. Even though she was _actually_ her own boss (Francis and her co-owned the firm ever since she was forced to join Francis due to misfortunate events after her father's death), she preferred making a good impression and was thus not abusing her privileges.

Sebastian never had had the same concerns, leaving no doubts for any co-worker that he must have a protecting hand somewhere around here. (People didn't really suspect that he was Francis' half-brother, but they did know that what he was allowed to do was way beyond the norms.)

Take this instance as an example; Sebastian was _supposed_ to work for another whole hour (Mary knew his schedule by heart – living next to someone did that to you) and yet here he was, office gossip on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah, I know. But I swear, I've done everything that was assigned to me today," He said, mock-cowering under her judging glare. Mary softly hummed, not really believing him, still. As if not noticing that, he carried on. "So, either way. Father found out about Francis' fling with the girl who had the job before, so she was transferred to our office in Lyon – hey, don't look at me like that! She gets a fully paid job in Europe and Francis would have broken up with her one way or another!"

Mary looked at him sternly and said, "Remember what I said about meddling, Bash? You shouldn't."

"Oh, come one, Mary. What's the problem? The girl got to pick a new city and gets to see France due to that. And I think you probably do owe me a thank you or something. You've been moaning about Francis being head over heels for her, how it was inappropriate and how it had –"

"Don't you dare –" Mary bit out, eyes narrowed and lips tightly pressed together.

"—_nothing_ to do with your huge, obvious crush on him." Sebastian finished regardless, eyes shining with humour and amusement.

"I do _not_ have a crush on him, god," She hissed, keeping her voice low. Always made her nervous when Sebastian was loud like that. Yes, sure, her bureau was quite isolated and far off, but what if anyone happened to walk by? "But he is my _friend_ and I worry."

"Sure, suit yourself. _Friend_. Mary, I tend to realise when people have crushes on someone, I'm the master of sensing that kind of stuff. Trust me, you like him even after your break up," He met her glare, the corners of his mouth quivering ever so slightly, indicating just how big of a smile he was fighting off that moment. "And if you call _that_ looking at someone in a friendly way, then maybe your definition of friendship is broader than what is universally accepted."

"You are an idiot," She said, pointedly ignoring his statement. Instead, she filed away the last papers littered around, organizing them as orderly as always. "Now come. We might as well grab something to eat before heading to the apartments."

None of them spoke a word after that, Mary faintly frowning and Bash _still_ looking distantly amused even though he really tried not to let it show. As they made their way towards the subway – Mary speed-walking, one tiny step after another, looking graceful even while doing that; Sebastian simply keeping up with her with long and measured strides –, Bash finally decided that the silence had to be broken.

"Humour me, Mary," He smirked, eyeing her sideways. Even though he did not turn his head in her direction, he could definitely feel her eyes on his face, probably brimming with suspicion. She didn't exactly say yes… But she also didn't firmly say no, so Sebastian took that as his permission to vocalise his request. "Define _friendship_ for me. Your interpretation might help me understand your point of view a little better."

"That's a weird request, Bash. What are you trying to prove here?" She sighed, then rolled her eyes skywards. "If it satisfies you and makes you shut up about it, okay. Friendship means that you can rely on someone, that you can trust them blindly. That they will be there for you when you hit rock-bottom; that they won't leave you – no matter what happens. It also means that you'd do the same for them, at any given time. Friendship means that you might feel lonely, but it also assures that you're never really _alone_."

"Oh my," Came his reply, nodding with a face that looked oddly pleased and concerned at the same time. "Makes friendship sound like a sweet deal. Say, how many friends do you have if you apply that definition?"

"I would say…" For a moment, she hesitated, clearly thinking carefully. Then, she decided at last. "Six people. Exactly."

Which, Bash knew, included him and Mary's four faithful lady servants (okay, they weren't _really _servants, but they accepted Mary as their social queen bee or something, so it was pretty close either way) and probably Francis.

It made Sebastian worry perhaps a tiny little bit that she considered Francis _that _close a friend. Because he knew for certain that it wasn't reciprocated. A girly crush, he could support; a shattered heart – broken by a foolish man that didn't mean too much – he could mend. He wasn't quite so sure if he would be able to deal with a Mary who thinks a friend _betrayed_ her or used her or took advantage of her.

He also wasn't sure if whoever would hurt Mary that way could ever walk a straight line again; and that wasn't just brotherly rivalry this was outright _you hurt my best friend and I can see if I can possibly leave a few bones unbroken_ – that was thankfully something he only ever had to say once (to that Portuguese ex-boyfriend of Mary; what a dick he had been).

She had called _that guy _a friend, too, before he had left her with the most horrible heartache that Bash had yet to mend, with the bitterest tears he had ever had to dry.

(Trust was such a dangerous present to give and receive. It could so easily go to waste.)

.

.

.

(Mary was fast asleep that night.

Down the corridor, in the next apartment, Bash's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. How could he possibly help her?

He mulled that question over all night; Sebastian didn't sleep that night.)

.

.

.

Mary was surprised – and a teeny little bit concerned, perhaps – as she went to knock on Bash's door the next morning so that they could go to work together; just like every morning.

Instead, however, she found a firmly locked door and a piece of paper with his neat handwriting written all over it.

_Dear Mary,_

_Hi._

_As you have probably deduced by now (you clever little thing) __–__ I__'__m already off to work. Why? Well, simply because I__'__m a genius. Found a way you can catch Francis__'__ attention, but I__'__ve got a few things to do beforehand so it__'__ll work out just fine. _

_(And yeah you__'__ve got it bad for him. Stop denying or I__'__ll start singing Disney__'__s __'__Won__'__t Say I__'__m in Love__'__ relentlessly.)_

_Whatever. _

_Paid for your breakfast at Larry__'__s __–__ just get the same as usual._

_See you at work, don__'__t be late. I would say __"__dress pretty__"__ but I__'__m sure you look just smashing already, anyways. _

_(Seriously __–__ don__'__t. I__'__ve got important plans for you, mademoiselle.)_

Mary smiled a little, remembering Bash's handwriting quite well. Back when she was still a lanky awkward teen, her mother had moved to Canada for a few years – after a particularly bad breakdown caused by her father's death, her mother's psychologist had suggested some distance –and she had kept in touch with Sebastian (not his brother, sadly, because Francis was always just a little too busy to write clumsy klutz Mary – they have all gone a long way since these days).

Even as a teenage boy, his writing had not just been eerily advanced for his age but also unordinary neat for a boy.

She used to keep all these letters written by him; and out of habit, she pocketed this one also.

(Still kept these letters locked away safely with her old diary. So much in there – so many letters never sent to him for real – that could have influenced their whole friendship. So many truths that had applied back then that Mary considered outdated these days.

She was so over it all.

Or so she insisted.)

.

.

.

(Mary made it to work about half an hour too early. She smiled as she sat down at her desk and waited for Bash.

Bash had talked to Francis; had asked him whether he thought having interest in a good friend's ex is a wrong thing. Francis had laughed, said no; then froze, stared at Bash and demanded who he was talking about. Bash shrugged, smiled easily, left his brother's office without another word.

Bash felt very brilliant, and maybe he was.)

.

.

.

"Mary!" Sebastian called out, in a way that made Mary flinch inwardly; _everyone_ must have heard that, she was certain. However, she really preferred not drawing too much attention towards her bureau.

_Why,_ she wondered, _would he do that? He knows how much I hate it when he does that._

"Bash." She acknowledged as he enthusiastically opened her door – and then left it wide open. _Why? _"Thank you for breakfast. You needn't buy my attention like that, though."

"Oh, I know, I just thought I'd surprise you with my endless and obviously stunning chivalry. Did it work?" Bash quipped, infectious grin causing a smile to bloom on Mary's face. "I'll take that as a yes, then. See, that's the pretty smile I'm living for."

Upon feeling blood rush to her cheeks, Mary scowled at him. "You buffoon, get over yourself and stop saying things like that."

"If it is your request, I will humbly accept it." He replied swiftly, mock bowing to her.

"You're stupid, Bash, I hope you know that." Even though her tone was apparently serious, her eyes betrayed her; and shortly after, so did her laughter.

_I mean it all, though, _Sebastian wanted to say.

_If anyone ever said that to me in honest, I think he would be the one_, Mary thought.

Neither uttered a single syllable.

.

.

.

(One thing, Mary thought with certainty, was undeniable truth when it came to Bash; you had to be very careful which of the things he said were to be taken seriously. Most of the times, he did not mean it, at all.

And if there was just one tiny little detail that she did not know about her best friend it would be this; Bash might not always mean the things he said _to _Mary, but he meant what he said _about _her. Always.)

.

.

.

Mary remained blissfully unaware of Sebastian's schemes (somehow, with a huge stack of paper work and Bash's promise to watch several Jane Austen adaptions – Mary's favourite author when it came to classical romance novels – as some kind of remedy for the stress aforementioned papers would surely cause, her mind had been elsewhere, obviously). And Bash let it just be that way since he had figured that Mary would most likely disapprove of the whole idea in general.

However, and that should not be neglected; he personally believed that there were but three things to guarantee that a man would definitely react:

Unconditional Love. Compassion. Responsibility.

And then, Bash figured, there were men like Francis – too self-centred to be unconditional; too pampered to feel more than absolutely necessary obligated; too judgemental to be kind to everyone without exceptions.

There were three other words perfectly fit to force a reaction out of his half-brother:

Justice. Honour. Proprietorship.

Yeah, that's right; possessiveness had always been one of Francis' major flaws. Bash was more than willing to play the jealousy card, no matter how childish Mary would have dubbed it. It proved to be just about enough to have any man react, that much Bash figured was unquestionable. Especially if your half-brother apparently wanted to get it on with your ex-girlfriend. Bash figured that if this didn't work, nothing would at all.

Bash knew that he was right, too; whenever he left the door to Mary's office wide open that day, he could practically feel Francis' glare whenever he 'happened' to walk by.

He had an inkling that Mary did realise that Francis was staring, but she probably figured that it was something – anything – else.

.

.

.

(Mary tossed and turned that night, wondering what Bash was planning. Sometime around 1am, she got up to reread that letter; and yes, he had written that it was a big deal and it bothered her that he hadn't decided to let her in on it. She was about to put that letter back into her coat pockets before she realised that it would be weird if he saw her have that letter still. Instead, she opened her desk drawer – where she had kept her diary and the letters sent by Bash over the years as well as the letters never sent at all.

Bash slept like a baby that night. For once, he felt like he was in control of things. But really? He wasn't, not at all.)

.

.

.

During the second day, Bash changed his tactic drastically. Instead of leaving the door open, he closed it firmly. He still made a point to show up frequently, but he'd smile a wicked smile, mischief written all over his face, along with a pointed satisfaction that Mary couldn't quite comprehend.

It was during lunch that she finally had to ask. They were about to exit her bureau to grab something edible at the pizzeria down the street; then, suddenly, Bash's hand took a hold of hers. Yes, it was nice, actually. Warm, secure, steady – if there was one thing about being someone's girlfriend that she missed, it was definitely the safe and protected part. Not that Mary needed protection, per se. It was just a quite welcome feeling.

However, and that was the crux of the problem, this was_ Bash_ holding Mary's hand, and there was so much wrong with that statement that for a moment she almost thought it felt right. Almost. So, with a deliberately blank expression (the one she tended to use to hide utter confusion) she dragged him back into the bureau and slammed the door shut rather loudly.

"Sebastian, you better have a good explanation for this!" She almost lost her temper right then, but did her best to hold it back anyhow. It wasn't like Bash was some weirdo who did stuff like that to mess with people. Or well, at least not to mess with Mary.

The self-satisfied smirk that had appeared on his face mere moments ago vanished in a blink.

"You mean you haven't figured it out? I thought you just did that because…" He trailed off, frowning, before he continued. "Mary, I've got this plan to bring you and Francis back together and I thought you knew by now!"

Her face was still blank, but her eyes were filled to the brim with confusion and perplexity.

"Jealousy, Mary! That's the key. I know Francis, and it'll work," She raised her left eyebrow at him, pretty much doubting the idea. "Now, have you not noticed his stares yesterday? Or that look on his face as you dragged me back into your office and slammed the door shut?"

A blush was creeping up her neck, gently resting upon her cheeks, and she shook her head.

"I mean it; he looked _livid_, Mary. It'd be so easy. Just hold my hand, let me lean in a little too close sometimes and in only a few days, you'll be a happy couple again! It's brilliant _and _bulletproof."

She didn't look certain, but he could see her stance weakening a little in consideration. With puppy dog eyes he said, "Just follow my lead, Mary. All you have to do is trust me."

And how do you say no to that when it is someone you have trusted your entire life?

"You know what? This is lunatic and will never work but…"

"Alright?"

"Alright."

_I could kiss you right now,_ he thought, a fond smile on his face.

He kept quiet.

.

.

.

(He was, he realised, maybe enjoying it a little too much to ruffle Mary's hair a little before leaving her office; or holding her hand in a deliberately firm yet gentle grip; or the ever-so-long embraces; the smell of lavender a steady reminder of her presence that lasted all evening; and, of course, her abashed glances whenever she rested her forehead softly against his chest, fingers tenderly stroking his neck, sometimes his shoulder blades, that one time even lightly teasing his abdomen with a sly and oh-so enchanting smirk.

And maybe, even though Bash didn't quite realise it, he wasn't the only one enjoying all of it a little too much.

Mary had missed this. The comfort. Francis had, while always suitably protective, never quite understood the concept of comfort, that simply act without anything sexual behind it, or any purpose other than feeling secure and just _held._

Her fingertips still _burned_, in a good way, from that one time she had slipped them underneath his collar to touch the base of his neck. Had she really been deprived from human contact _that_ long? Would she react that way to any touch?

She figured that the answer to that was yes. It would be like that with virtually everyone and had _nothing at all _to do with Bash. Best friend Bash. Just that. A good friend. Very good.  
It would take her another twenty hours to realise that the real answer was quite different.)

.

.

.

It was the nest day when Mary's world came crashing down upon her.

Innocently enough did it all start off; she was enjoying a cup of tea with Bash – as she did every morning – when he mentioned the following: "It officially takes him two days longer than I expected."

Mary stared at him, slightly confused as to what he was rambling about seeing how their former discussion had had nothing at all to do with that statement.

"Excuse me?"

"I just, you know, thought he'd break during that first day. I'm actually thinking that he might make a move today. If he doesn't, we might have to step up our game." He replied idly, free hand holding hers ever so casually. They proclaimed their reason to be 'security; you know, just in case anyone from work drops by'. 

It was neither Mary's nor Bash's main reason, to be completely blunt.

God bless pretences.

.

.

.

(Bash really had wondered about Francis' hesitation, though.

And he was right; Francis was not much further from making an actual move.)

.

.

.

They weren't hugging – that was too friendly for them; they embraced instead, her nose buried in the crook of his neck. It was half shame, half odd contentment. Majority of the staff was watching them – and eerily enough, she didn't care nearly as much as she did back then when Francis would do something simple as hold her hand in public.

There was something weirdly fulfilling about being with Bash like this. Mary wasn't too sure what to make of that.

"Don't turn around now," Bash whispered into her ear all of a sudden, hot breath and close proximity of lips to her ear lobe making it difficult to hold back a shudder of pleasure. She still managed to supress it, even if barely and instead concentrated on his words. "But he's watching and he seems close to exploding."

_Yes, _she thought desperately, _get your head in the game, Mary. He's doing that to set you up with Francis._

"What are you thinking about, Bash?" She inquired as she felt (another hitch of breath had to be fought because he was so _so close) _his lips quirk into a smirk.

"Trust me?"

"Yes."

He kissed her.

.

.

.

(Here a fact: Bash had had a crush on Mary since age five. He had settled for not acting on it _ever_ when he was eleven.

And another fact: Mary fell in love with Bash when she was thirteen. She's been in denial about it ever since she began dating Francis.)

.

.

.

His one hand was gently caressing her cheek, guiding some stray lock of hair behind her ear most tenderly; his other hand was on her lower back, drawing lazy patterns.

(How he could have been so relaxed about it, Mary didn't know.

The truth was that Bash had pictured it so often that in that moment, it seemed like just another day dream.)

After a moment's hesitation, she put her hands firmly on his chest. She felt him stiffen a little, probably ready to back away, ready to apologize profoundly. However, Mary surprised him – and herself, to a certain extend – because she simply pulled him closer, closed the gap that had almost appeared between them.

And it was so good; she deepened the kiss, in a fashion that she couldn't name anything but desperate. Bash responded in kind.

(Even though he was now sure that it wasn't a fantasy and he had no clue as to what _exactly_ was going on, he wasn't about to pass up this chance. Consequences – and he had been held back by those too often, too regularly – be damned just this once.)

As they parted – Mary gasping a little, cheeks rosy red by now – Bash was still pretty ineloquent.  
(She had always rendered him speechless like that. It was one talent of many.)

"Well," He muttered, admittedly a little breathless still. "That sure was something."

She nodded, unwilling to completely comprehend the situation. "Indeed, it was."

Their reverie (they had been gazing at each other, still embracing, for about two minutes at that point) was broken by an angry and disgruntled Francis. "There's people trying to get to work – so snog elsewhere, please."

Bash forced a satisfied smile when Francis was out of earshot. "Told you, any day now. Saw how he forced that 'please'?"

All that enthusiasm they faked?

Neither felt any elated at all.

.

.

.

(Mary didn't want to accept it, afterwards. As she sat in her bureau she thought again and again; he couldn't _possibly_ reciprocate her feelings. He was simply helping her out. He was being an exceptionally good friend. She didn't want to screw it up.

She didn't want to accept it.

Yet another fact: just because someone refused to accept something did not mean it was not perfectly accurate, either way.)

.

.

.

"Okay, listen, Mary."

Her eyes met his, question mark written all over her face. Bash sounded eerily serious.

"Remember when you said you were just keeping the job because of _someone_? Well, now that you'll be back together with Francis anyhow, I think it's time to tell you something."

"Oh?" She inquired, her heart fluttering. No need to tell him that Francis honestly wasn't that someone.

"I want to quit."

A lump was forming in her throat, she quivered slightly. However, she needed to be sure that he meant what she thought he did and so she asked, "Quit what?"

"This job, obviously." He could see the protest welling up inside of her, and so he simply carried on. "Now, before you say anything, hear me out. I'm working here because I'm the boss' bastard. It's not like I am any good here. Elsewhere, I might be. I've been looking into it. You might like it, too."

"So, you're proposing I should tag along?" Granted, she hated this work place, but society was unstable, and all of her friends worked here…

"Yes. It's barely twenty minutes from here. It's a fashion magazine. Now, I've asked them and they would be delighted to take you as journalist. And they would take me as a photographer. You love writing, I love photography. Our talents are wasted in this office, Mary. Just, give it a thought, will you?"

"I don't know if this is a good idea, to be honest."

His face fell in a way that made Mary's heart clench painfully.

"Nevertheless, I will give it some thought."

His smile lighted up her world instantly, her heart fluttered nervously.

"That's all I'm asking for."

.

.

.

(When they had broken up, it was mainly Mary's fault. Was what Francis claimed. Apparently jealousy was a major fault of Mary's and god was it stupid.

Meanwhile Bash vigorously defended her; it was a person's right to be concerned about someone's affection especially if said person neglected to show you that they loved you more than they could ever love anyone else. And Mary had had every right, he thought sadly, to feel jealous. Francis, Bash felt, never appreciated how precious she had been.

_You are precious, Mary. You are loved._

He gently kissed her forehead and embraced her. He was honest. Mary never believed him back then.)

.

.

.

As per usual, they were about to head out for dinner together. However, Francis' secretary Lola caught up with them right before they could exit the building. After greeting Mary with a kiss to the cheek, she announced that _Mister Francis _would very much like to talk to her this instant.

Once Mary left, Lola grinned at Bash, "You're quite the main topic of gossip around here, Mister Cannot-wait-with-the-snogging-till-we-are-home. Congratulation."

"Thank you," He remarked drily. "First I would like to thank the gods for making me this wonderful and perfect. Secondly, a heart-felt thank you to Mary for letting me molest her in public."

Lola shook her head, chuckling.

"Well, I do see why she likes you, you're funny enough. Though, honestly, you two had it coming for years now. You're literally perfect for each other."

Bash looked at her, utterly confused. He had only ever talked to Lola when he had to, and he had his very own suspicions about her relationship with Francis. Apparently, though, she was a little more invested in Mary's love life than he had first anticipated.

As he was about to retort – half ashamed that it had taken him quite a few moments to mask the initial shock – she was called away, however, by someone else.

A second before she really did turn away, he grasped her wrist, "Tell her 6 o'clock at her place, please. If she can make it, I mean."

For a moment, Lola stared at him and he faintly wondered why she was so bemused by those words. Then, she chuckled under her breath and winked at him saying, "Sure thing, lover boy."

_Oh god_, he thought as he stared after her. _Good god._

And then, just to himself in the darkest corner of his mind, the one he so aptly ignored: _If only._

_._

_._

_._

("Do you like him?" – "Who?" – "You know who. Sebastian. My brother." – "Well, of course." – "But why?" – "I don't know. I just do." – "Do you like him better than me?" – "No. Of course not."

They kissed soundly.

Sebastian, who had been about to enter that room, closed his eyes in resentment.

Resentment not meant for clueless Mary, who had no clue how much that had hurt. No, it was resentment meant for Francis. The one that had the right angle to see the door and therefore Sebastian.)

.

.

.

"Do you love him?" Francis inquired as Mary had barely just closed the door behind herself.

Bewildered by this immediate and forceful question, Mary replied with a stunned, "Who?"

She realised, of course, swiftly and at the same time as Francis replied, "You know who. Sebastian. My brother."

"Well," Mary said, hesitating a little. What did she want? Did she want him to think that she loved Bash so that he would try to win her back right now? Or did she not? She decided to answer in a very general and open way. And it was no lie, either. "Of course I do."

He mulled this over for a second, before finally asking, "But why?"

_Because he'd always be there for me. Because I can be myself with him. Because he will always be all I could ever need, want, wish for. Because he never fails me when people like you let me fall. _

"I don't know," She claimed, though she did, and her heart ached with that knowledge. "I just do."

"Do you love him better than me?" He finally posed the question that Mary was not prepared to answer. She gulped audibly.

"You don't, do you? What was between us, Mary, you can't have that with anyone else. Because you and I, we belong."

No reaction on Mary's side. She was, to say the least, baffled into silence. Francis took this as his sign to continue.

"You long to be with me, and so you lead on Sebastian like that, to try to get over me. But Mary, believe me," By that time, he stood right in front of her, cupping her face. "You need me, not him. I am what is best for you. I know what is best for you."

"Do you?" She asked, numbly, before her mouth contorted into one angry snarl. "_Do you?_ So you know what I need and want and wish for? Let me tell you, the only good thing you ever did to me was that god forsaken break-up! You treated me like worthless dirt before I started to do my best to become that girl you might like. Do you know how many weeks I had to starve to get your attention? You've never been in love with me, have you? I mean, actual love? Not just some sexual attraction because little Mary has stopped being that chubby thing?"

"Why would you say that now –" He mumbled, perplexed.

"Oh, thought I never realised what a bully you were before? I did, I just thought you'd changed! And I honestly don't know what took me so long to realise that you still are just like back then. You condescending arse! Telling me to stop being this and stop being that because it grated on your nerves, but you yourself never stopped being mean, no matter how hard I tried to get you to cut that."

"I –"

"So, you really want to know why I like your brother better than you? At least, he has a heart. He has never disappointed me, he has never patronized me, he has never neglected me just for fun. He was always there, always found _me _beautiful and not my body. And he is always there. Good times, bad times. Always. The times you left, he remained at my side. Besides, I never loved you. It took me so long to realise, maybe too long. But it is the truth."

For a moment, neither said a thing. Then, Mary realised something even more important.

She gasped in awe.

"I love him." She mumbled, then louder said, "I love him so much."

Mary decided that she needed to see him, this instant. However, she decided to say one last thing before leaving him behind for what she figured would be a long time.

"Besides. It's not just the 'I love you's that I don't have to fake with Bash." Which was not something she could know for sure at the moment. But if, for once in her life, everything went like she wanted it to, she was going to find out. "I quit."

She slammed the door in his face.

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.

.

("So? What do you think?" Mary asked, doing a little twirl. She liked the dress, personally, because it hid her somewhat chubby thighs and her arms.

"You look beautiful." Bash replied with an easy smile. "But I don't like the dress at all.")

.

.

.

As it approached six, Bash entered Mary's flat his spare key.

(She had sent a text that read _I'll be there. We need to talk_ which, he guessed, meant that she would tell him all about how she was back together with Francis. And wouldn't he be happy to act like he was proud of himself for achieving that.)

He intended on just making a cup of tea so that he could wait for her in her living room; but Sebastian was nothing if not extremely curious. Also, it was his writing, so he had every right to step closer and examine it.

With a fond smile, he took the letter from the opened drawer. It looked like someone had opened and closed it a lot lately and then forgotten to close it for good. He was about to place the letter back inside the drawer, completely content with the thought that Mary had not disposed of it. But, as he tried to convince himself (and his racing heart) that it meant next to _nothing_, his eyes fell upon the other letters.

One half of the drawer, he realised, were other letters written by him. By a younger him. _She kept them_. His heart sped up even more. _I always thought I was the only one who –_

Then, he noticed the other stack. Not his handwriting. Mary's handwriting.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached to open them. Half because he felt so bad about touching what was not meant to be his, partly because he was excited to see what they contained.

Three of them, Bash counted, then saw something peculiar; they all had stamps on them, but they were never sent. Also, they all were clearly addressed to him.

That was when he could not help it. He opened the first one.

.

.

.

("Do you think Francis loves me?"

It was the question of a girl that felt not at all insecure about herself, but about the love of her partner.

No, he wanted to scream. Not nearly as much as he should. Not nearly as much as you deserve.

Instead, he hugged her and said, "He would be mad not to."

.

.

.

Mary had hurried half the way to her apartment, then she had hesitantly walked the other half. She was torn between wanting to see him and dreading it.

So what? She loved him. She wanted to tell him. But how would she know if he loved her back? And what if he didn't?

It was the certainty that nothing could ever torpedo their friendship that gave Mary the strength to open her own door despite her anxiously fluttering heart. Ba-bum _you can do it _ba-bum _no you can't, _it seemed to beat, and she didn't know what to do with that. It hadn't been like that with any other man before.

She had settled for just being direct and straight out when she spotted him – had he always looked this attractive in jeans and shirt, stubble gracing his cheeks and chin – standing there, intently staring at a sheet of paper in his hand.

Her resolve weakened slightly, but she managed a faint, "Hey there, Bash" anyhow.

His answering stare was unnerving. Like she was someone foreign, someone he had never seen before. For a mere moment, she had no clue what that was about. Then she registered the following: Bash in front of her letter drawer, holding a piece of paper that was written in her handwriting.

"Oh no." She mumbled, because sure; she had wanted him to know. But, this made her look like a weirdo, perhaps even a creeper.

"Mary…" He said her name in reverence before she could get out much else. "Is this true? You used to love me?"

"Of course I did. You were always there and you were always so nice…" She trailed off, begging for him to hear the silent _you still are_. And also the _I still am_ that her subconscience yelled and chanted so often that it was barely subconscious anymore.

Carefully, he placed the letter on her desk. It was the pale blue one, she realised, the last one she ever tried to write. She had almost sent that, but then her mother told her they'd be moving back to the US. There was no need to, after that. She figured she would tell him herself.

She never did.

"It was," He hesitated, then closed the distance between them with a few measure strides. "Very eloquent and beautiful. But, you wrote that, so what else to expect, right?"

His fingers gently brushed a stray lock behind her ear, not unlike he did in the office a few days back; only this time there was no one around; only this time, he locked eyes with her and she stared right back and she shuddered at the tenderness in his eyes.

"So, what did Francis say?" His fingers caressed her cheek now, then rested on her neck.

"Oh, what you'd expect," She said, trying so hard to sound casual. "How he knew what was best for me. Of course how I needed him, yadda yadda yadda."

"And?" As she looked at him confused, he specified, "Do you need him?"

"No at all. Told him a piece of my mind, alright. Then I quit."

"The job?"

"What else? Besides, after I told him his performances in bed were insufficient, I doubt he would have kept me, either way."

Bash laughed at that, grinning at her brightly. "And you thought I wouldn't love you. I doubt I could love anyone more than you if I tried."

"What." She said, frozen.

He stared at her unbelievingly. "Now, Mary. All these years, I have wanted to tell you, and I thought I was rather obvious. I am in love with you. Since I was five. You are beautiful and perfect and I know, you're probably long over that crush on me, but I think I have a right to say it at least this once."

"Bash." She mumbled, then she grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her, sealing their mouths shut.

This time, Mary completely let herself go, tried to convey what she felt for this man, what she had been feeling for years now; and he responded eagerly, opening his mouth to her greedy tongue, letting her explore to her heart's wish.

"Mary," He panted, breaking the kiss as she fumbled to take off his shirt. "No dinner beforehand?"

"I've waited for a while, Sebastian," She said sternly, so not up for that kind of teasing. "I don't need your chivalry right now."

"Well, maybe _I _would feel used if we progressed that fast!" He responded while pulling his shirt over his head before throwing it carelessly out of the way.

"Yes, I can see that," She said sarcastically before adding, "Now, you better make me scream, Mister."

"Certainly, ma'am. Someone has to restore the family honour after Francis so rudely damaged it."

Playfully, he pushed her against the next best thing; the living room wall. "Besides, I've always wanted to make you shut up for a bit."

"Likewise," She reprimanded, laughing. "I love you so much."

"Same here, duh." And then, he kissed her senseless.


End file.
